


Whoo

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 17:20:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15369483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Bilbo has all that improper fun.





	Whoo

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for Theoverlordsdaughter’s “Smaugbo [kiss in a rush of adrenaline]” request on [my tumblr prompt list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/176075204220/prompt-list).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He curls himself around the base of the mountain, lounging across the icy plains and consciously trying not to melt _too_ much of the snow. Personally, Smaug’s never cared much for cooler climates. When he still controlled this realm, he never emerged from the depths of his mountain during the winter months. But now he lives even further north, only wheeling down for a few days at a time, and he knows his little Bilbo has a use for all the cold. 

Bilbo’s scream pierces the air as he goes racing down the slope, lost amongst the roar of many dwarves, but Smaug tunes all the others out and listens only to Bilbo’s joyous shouting. Just a small speck in the distance, he clings to the overturned shield that he’s made his plaything, and he whizzes down the smooth surface of the mountain in a blur of blue and honey-brown. All the nearby trees have been cleared away, the rocks paved down, and only the occasional evened-out shelf slows his progress. Smaug’s made sure there were no obstacles. Yet it’s still all so very _adventurous_ for his sweet little hobbit, who claims to be nothing but _proper_.

From what Smaug’s heard, _proper_ hobbits don’t yell the way that Bilbo does. The dwarves are even worse, and a few of them go toppling end-over-end when they try to pull off complicated swerves and tricks. Smaug snorts at them and resists the urge to incinerate the lot. Bilbo would never forgive them. He tolerates their presence for the sake of keeping his greatest treasure _happy_ : he privately thinks of them as his lowly subjects—the brass coins on the bottom of his pile that only exist to push the gold higher up. Bilbo is his gold.

Bilbo rolls right to the bottom, speed decreasing as the land steadies itself, but his whooping lingers all around him. His shield comes to a final stop just in front of Smaug’s flank, where the immediate snow has naturally sizzled out around him. Bilbo climbs right off, legs shaking and hair mussed from the wind. Smaug indulgently purrs, “How is this new sport of yours?”

Bilbo opens his mouth, but he seems to have no words. Breathless and rosy-cheeked, he comes running up to kiss the side of Smaug’s muzzle in a clear swarm of adrenaline. Then he asks Smaug, bright-eyed and beaming, “Can you fly me back up to the top?”

Naturally, Smaug nods. He allows Bilbo and a few other Dwarven tagalongs to drag their shields up his back, and then he leaps into the air to start again.


End file.
